


Did you know God wears red leggings?

by tripletmoons



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Jason Todd is Robin, latino! Roy Harper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 16:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tripletmoons/pseuds/tripletmoons
Summary: "I guess," Roy says even slower, "I could ride you?"Hot Robin chokes. "What?!""I said: I could ride you. Can I? I was gonna ride Nightwing but he's an asshole so-."Hot Robin doesn't say anything. He's speechless and his face is very red. Cute."Piggyback?" Roy whines.





	Did you know God wears red leggings?

Nightwing’s fights can sometimes be mistaken for street performances. When he punches a guy out, he smiles for the camera. When he’s kicked off a building, he sticks the landing. His version of vigilante justice includes flips and flourishes and too many goddamn one-liners.

Once, he actually _literally_ said: “You can take a Grayson out of the circus, but you can’t take the circus out of a Grayson.” He said those words. _To Roy’s face_.

Well, as it turns out, if you beat a Grayson up enough the circus takes a hike. 

After saving the world three times in fifty-eight hours, Grayson is beat up enough. 

_Nightwing dodges Blockbuster’s fist sharply, more Bat than Boy Wonder-._

His fighting is like fighting.

_Blockbuster's foot strikes air, he doubles back with a punch-._

No flourishes, no flamboyance. _Es feo._

 _-the rooftop shatt_ ers to rubble. Roy’s left leg, weak from an earlier chaos magic blast, buckles, disrupting his inner-monologue about Nightwing's fighting fuckery.

Sighing, he repositions his aching body and fires an explosive arrow at Blockbuster, pushing him away from kneeing Nightwing somewhere _vital_. Usually, he’d follow up that shot with an arrow packing more of a punch but this is their  _fourth fight in a row._ He has grapples, minor explosives, and regular arrows: the holy trinity for use on street thugs, but for _Meta’s_? Nah man.

“Arrow, you know I can _hear_ you right? Those sighs aren’t silent and they’re also _not helping!_ ”

Roy sighs louder and shoots another arrow. It digs into Blockbuster’s knee, right at the joint and _booms._ Blockbuster stumbles a little. _A little._

Roy sighs again.

“ _Fucker_.” Nightwing hisses and punches Blockbluster in the face.

Spittle flies. Blockbuster comes back swinging twice as hard. The rooftop shudders, roiling like the red sea.

“ _Hijo de Puta._ ” Roy swears, moving to a more stable position once a-fucking-gain. “I thought Gotham didn’t _get_ Meta’s!”

“This is Blüdhaven!” Nightwing snarls, delivering a slicing kick to the face. Blood flies but Blockbuster shows no inclination of going down. He staggers closer to one of the gapping holes punched into the warehouse though, which either gives Roy an idea or illustrates that Nightwing has an idea.

“I’m _so_ sorry. My bad. What I meant was: I thought _knockoff_ - _Gotham_ didn’t get Meta’s!” Roy snips, lining up his shot and waiting for an opening.

Nightwing swerves to the side, opening up a clear path to Blockbuster’s face. Apparently, Roy is the one following Nightwing’s plan.

He lets the arrow fly and it nails Blockbuster’s eye, sinking in enough to blind but not kill. Blockbuster roars, the force of his scream vibrating the air. Nightwing rolls behind him and delivers a solid, two-footed, strike to the spine.

 _Timber_.

Blockbuster falls through the roof.

Roy wavers, bad leg aching, _entire body aching_ , and is a moment away from sitting his ass on the ground when a fucking _grapple_ digs into the concrete and Blockbuster’s hulking form pops back up like a pissed-off whack-a-mole. 

Blockbuster swings, clipping Nightwing's side and sending him rolling. His other hand is clapped over his face, blood and ocular fluid seeping between his fingers. His good eye cuts into Roy like a blade and _fuck he moves fast for a big guy._

“Where did he get that?” Roy shouts; stumble-running across the rooftop, pain flaring up his leg like fire. He shoots an explosive backwards without looking. “Who gave him that? Who taught him how to use it?! _Joder esta noche directo al abismo!”_

“I think he taught himself, Arrow. He has a PhD!” Nightwing wheezes, voice tiny. 

“I thought the steroids cooked that right out of him!” Roy grunts, ducking and rolling avoid a punch to the head, air rushing around his ears. He hits the rooftop hard and feels something in his leg give unpleasantly. There’s a meaty _thwack,_ body hitting body, and Roy come’s out of his summersault on a pivot, reaching for another arrow. There are five left. _Shit._  

He brings an arrow up and shakily lines it up- Blockbuster is down, syringes jutting out of his neck and spine. The one standing over him isn’t Nightwing. 

He’s young, a little younger than Roy, and dressed in green, red and yellow: Robin. The _new_ Robin. The _pretty-fucking-hot_ Robin. Before now, Roy thought the Robin costume to be un-hottable. Even Nightwing looked not great in it.

“He down?” Roy asks Hot Robin, loosening his notched arrow.

The guy kicks Blockbuster in the ribs, sneering. The villain doesn’t move, which is as good as a yes _._

Roy topples right over the way he’s wanted to all night. “There is a God,” he tells the sky, “and he wears red tights.”

Hot Robin sputters, mutters: “They’re leggings.”

“Well, regardless, thanks for the assist.” He sketches out a sloppy salute, grinning at the red creeping out from under Robin’s mask. “Blockbuster had us on the ropes.”

“Speak for yourself.” Nightwing stalks over with a hand plastered across his ribs, glaring at Robin like he’d spat on his ancestors, not saved his shapely gymnast ass. “What are you doing here?”

Hot Robin’s blush dies a quick death. He returns the glare; it settles onto his features like it belongs there. Roy mourns the blush. “Saving you, _Dickhead_.”

“I had it under control.” Nightwing snarls.

“I cannot believe you just said that with a straight face.” Roy mutters under his breath, slumping back against some rubble as his spine becomes a wet noodle. Goodbye, adrenaline.

Hot Robin looks at the destroyed rooftop, looks at the destroyed Roy. “Yeah,” he drawls, “I can see that.”

Nightwing’s jaw clenches, his shoulders square. “How did you know to come here, Robin?”

Hot Robin’s posture doesn’t change. He’s been ready for a fight the whole time. “Why does Robin go anywhere?”

“ _Batman_.” Nightwing spits it like a curse. “He’s spying on me.”

Hot Robin doesn’t reply, which is an answer in itself. _U_ _h oh._

“Hey hey _hey_ , Nightwing.” Roy moves to sit, ignoring the second heartbeat developing in his leg and the way the world wavers around him like a mirage. It takes him a moment to get himself propped up. “Calm down. Don’t do anything rash.”

“How did he know where I was? How did he know I was fighting?”

“How does Batman know anything?” Hot Robin mocks. Honestly, mocking is a good look on him. "You're a detective, you figure it out."

Nightwing's head jerks to the side, his entire body shifting like a bloodhound narrowing in on a scent. Roy carefully follows his gaze and squints. The world blurs in and out of focus. There, in molding of nearby building, a camera glints. If Nightwing hadn't honed in on it like a man possessed Roy wouldn't have noticed it at all. 

“ _Surveillance_.” Nightwing growls, shifting his weight predatorily. “Blüdhaven isn’t his jurisdiction.”

“No,” Hot Robin sneers, another good look, “but you are.”

_UH OH._

“Nightwing,” Roy cautions, trying to sooth the savage beast, “-Nightwing now is not the time to-.”

Nightwing ignores him. Nightwing takes off into the night, hurdling over the edge of the building despite his ribs. Nightwing is an asshole with a death wish.

“ _Dickhead!_ You were my ride!” Roy shouts after him, collapsing onto his back with a groan. His feels more like tenderized meat than man. His eyes droop; he's so tired.

"Uh, shit." Hot Robin says after a moment. "Are you okay?" 

"I think," Roy says slowly, "that I am going to sleep here."

The rooftop is silent for a moment and then: "Are you _an idiot!_ Shit I mean, this might not be Gotham but still, passing out on a rooftop in _Gotham-adjacent_ is just asking for a knife through the ribs." 

"Ha," Roy slurs as the sky blurs into Van Gogh whorls, " _Gotham-adjacent."_

Robin leans over him, cheekbones cutting through the night like-like sharp things. Roy smiles up at him. 

"Oh my God." Hot Robin says.  _Knives,_ like  _knives_. "No-no you cannot sleep here."

"Cn't move." Roy offers. 

"Yeah I can see that, but you can't stay here."

"I guess," Roy says even slower, "I could ride you?" 

Hot Robin _chokes_. "What?!"

"I said: I could ride you. Can I? I was gonna ride Nightwing but he's an asshole so-."

Hot Robin doesn't say anything. He's speechless and his face is very red. _Cute_.

"Piggyback?" Roy whines. 

Hot Robin palms his very nice face. "I cannot believe this shit." He tells his hand. 

Roy knows a yes when he sees one. He lifts his arms up obligingly and waits. Sure enough, Hot Robin slowly leans down and wraps his arms around Roy. Close up his biceps are very impressive. Not as impressive as Roy's of course but _Roy_ is an archer so he's got a leg up in bicep competitions.

_Ha leg up... bicep competition... so good._

"Up you go." Hot Robin grunts, above average biceps working to _heave_. 

Roy's vision whites out as he's lifted, a whine catching behind his teeth as pain ratchets through his body. A shoulder digs into his waist and he slumps, laying over Hot Robin's shoulder like a wet post-workout towel. Pain sucks.

"Doin' ok there?" Hot Robin asks. His concern is very sweet. 

"Pain sucks." Roy repeats. 

"Yeah your leg is definitely broken somewhere."

"Your concern is very sweet." Roy finishes a beat later.

Hot Robin chokes again, jostling Roy.

The white is climbing into his vision again and he'd like it to leave please so that he can properly look at Hot Robin's ass in those tights. Sorry, _leggings_.

"Oh my God." Hot Robin states. It seems to be his sentence of the day. 

"God." Roy echoes, thinking back muzzily. " _Dios_... Hey, did you know tha- that God wears red leggings?" He asks. 

" _Oh my-._ "

The white wins. Roy passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be working on WIP but I am me so: procrastination. 
> 
> All the Spanish in this fic comes from google translate bc I am a shit linguist!


End file.
